


Always In My Head

by 13thoftheseventh



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, but here i am man, idk a thing about borrowing books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 09:45:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11895117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thoftheseventh/pseuds/13thoftheseventh
Summary: Youngho never thought a string of words, an exhange of notes, and a book that conatined chapters about ketchup and menstruation, would lead him back to the person he once knew. (And perhaps, liked... a bit but now he likes him a lot more.)





	Always In My Head

**NOW**

They were bound to meet at Thursday, at 3:30PM sharp in a coffee house a few blocks away from university.

   The coffee cup resting in front of him sits untouched and Youngho tries his best to resist taking another sip, thinking it wouldn't look nice if he finished a cup before _he_ arrives. He checks the time on his wristwatch and preses the home button of his phone just in case any notifications pop up. It’s 3:47, and still he’s nowhere to be found. So Youngho stares at the book sitting on his lap beneath the table, running the tips of his fingers to the smooth surface of the cover, feeling the paper.

   Flipping it to the side, he mouths the title of the book written on the spine, the English words familiar to his bilingual tongue. With a sharp breath, he decides to kill a few minutes by reading chapter one, and perhaps maybe even chapter two too. But as he reads the first sentence, his brain can’t absorb the words. His thoughts subconsciously floating back to _him_.

 

Today, he will meet his Mystery Man.

   Or as _he_ would have it— his name was Kid.

   Kid, whom Youngho had been constantly trading notes and strings of witty banter with, in the span of three months, for five days a week. Kid, who leaves Youngho pondering over his share of notes because of the way he uses his words with honesty and a hint of poeticness. _The_ Kid, whom he stayed up all night for because Youngho ended up thinking about him, running his mind with questions concerning his identity (not that he's been asking himself questions since their exchanges have started, but last night he was brimming full with excitement and anxiousness that he just... had to).

 

~~Is he shorter or taller than me?~~

~~What does he look like?~~

~~Would his hands fit around mine perfectly?~~

~~What if he's someone I know in real life?~~

~~{the list goes on...}~~

 

Twelve hours and four hours of sleep later, and somehow it all comes down to this day.

   If anything, even if he'd been robbed from sleep, Youngho felt more awake than ever. Though his friends and even teachers had once pointed out that he was the type of person who maintained a calm face even under great pressure (it was Jaehyun who said this after they’ve successfully won first place at a debate), the nerves were slowly getting into him. His jaw is clenched and he can't stop tapping his fingers to Für Elise on Vivace against the table as the words on page 3 swim on his head. A quarter of an hour has passed and he’s standing on the edge.

 

Then a thought hits him, _what if… we won’t turn out as what I’ve expected?_

 

Youngho pauses.

   The straight line of his lips pursing into a tight grimace and a bitter taste fills his tongue. He grabs his phone on the table to check at his face. His eyes were lined with worry, but his hair was in order and his clothes are still proper. He figures he looks decent enough. But still, something doesn't seem to sit right. It unsettles him. And as a thousand thoughts swarm in my head—  a mix of voices laugh, whisper, shout, and took pity on him. He grimaces and manages to choke out a laugh, it’s 4:00PM now. Maybe Kid doesn’t see Youngho as the way he sees him.

Unrequited love from a stranger? Youngho thinks he’s reached the highest peak of Hopeless Romantic nirvana.

 

All of a sudden, the doors to the coffee house open in a burst and Youngho hears the strong wind from the outside as he crooks his head to the direction.

   Then he sees him with an exasperated look on his face, hair disheveled, shoulders moving up and down quickly, catching breaths. Youngho is stunned to his seat, eyes wide when the person locks gazes with him. He looked far more than familiar than what he expected.

"After all this time, Seo. You're here."

 

 

+

 

 

Within a week after the start of the first semester, Youngho has already been swarmed with piles over piles of schoolwork.

   His course, International Studies, had subjects that required more than the average amount of essays than other courses have. It doesn't help that his roommate (the mentioned Jaehyun) and his other friends— Ten and Doyoung— often crashed into their place, depriving and distracting him from doing his work.

   So often he'd find himself spending more time away from his dorm to find solace in the library, a listed safe haven no matter where or which school he's in. Youngho would have a round table meant for three to himself, his papers and books. He'd do his work alone, secluded between tall shelves and the corner walls of the building, faint sunlight streaming through the tall windows. For a person who's often loud when he's in the company of his friends, Youngho actually loved the quiet, the feeling of security and comfort. All of which, libraries offer to him.

 

It was mid-morning at a Thursday when Youngho had ventured of to the library (due to a cancelled lecture) when he came across a book that would forever change his life.

   He was at the English Literature section trying to find something that would somehow refresh his brain from reading and writing about laws and theories. But the shelves housed a comparatively small collection that mostly contained classics that couldn't satisfy his thirst for something modern, if not contemporary. One-by-one he scans each book carefully, reading the titles and authors, determined to find something worth reading. When he's reached the fourth shelf, with his back hunched to adapt to the shelf's height, a white paperback with a small battered blue shoe on the spine catches his eye.

 

Youngho's eyes squint before it widens in astonishment.

   He crouches down to the shelf’s level, rereading the author’s name on the side. _Malcolm Gladwell_ , he breathes out, nearly in disbelief on the coincidence… or maybe luck. The book was out of place next to the titles filling the shelves, how the hell did it get here? But as he would have it in his philosophy, (he was a firm believer on fate, although he wouldn’t admit so if you grind him, it made him look like the hopeless romantic he slightly is) everything happens for a reason.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he takes _Malcolm Gladwell’s_ “What the Dog Saw” out of its place a bit roughly, having been squeezed too tight among the other books.

   When the copy is finally free at his hands, Youngho couldn’t help but smile with all his teeth. He returns to his seat with a triumphant glow on his face and lighter, skipping steps. On his chair, he runs a quick thumb over the pages, leaning in to smell the scent of paper on ink. Holding it out in front of him at arm’s length, he takes note of the dog-eared corners and the creases on the cover. There’s even a faint smudge of blue on the upper left of the cover and the paper inside has aged. Additionally, the paperback didn’t have the university stamp. He then comes up with a conclusion that it must’ve belonged to a student, probably an alumnus already.

 

 _All the more reason to treasure it_ , he figures as he reads the table of content, the chapter titles still familiar in his memory.

   He proceeds on reading the first chapter, something about kitchen appliances and a pitchman, the writing style amusing to him. He reads the first few pages with glee, but as he was about to turn to page five he notices a gap between the pages. Perhaps from a bookmark halfway through the book.

   Out of sheer curiosity, he flips through the pages and finds a small scrap of ripped notebook paper with tiny crooked penmanship, just below page 127. A note.

   He picks it out, before bringing it closer to his eyes.

 

_I don't know if it was me, or it was something else. But I don't know why it just didn't happen for us._

   Now Youngho by nature wasn’t precisely a nosy person. But he wasn’t the type of person who’d ignore words from a stranger either; considering that such words must’ve come from deep within whoever-this-guy’s heart and is uncannily sandwiched between a chapter about birth control pills.

   In case it doesn’t show from his undergrad course, his calmness at debates, and his knack of coming up with clever retorts. Youngho was the type of person who wanted to have the last say. (he’s part ENTP after all)

   So after much deliberation, his impulsiveness and pride has whisked him into writing down a reply. He takes a blue sticky note from his side, splits it into half, before he jots down his reply.

 

_why are you being so dramatic on a chapter about pills?_

  

 

   Satisfied with a grin on his lips, he tucks it in between the pages, just under the note, before proceeding on reading about a pitchman and kitchen appliances.

 

 

+

 

 

You see, before Youngho was a university student at Seoul, he was a regular American citizen residing in the city of Chicago.

   He was born in the United States and grew up exposed to Western culture, passion for In-N-Out burgers and basketball included. But still, his parents did their best to raise him with cultural awareness of his home country. From a using a few Hangeul words in the house, to having home cooked kimchi stew and side dishes during Korean holidays, and learning the basic mannerisms and etiquette. The knowledge was handy whenever his family would fly off for vacations every one or two years to Seoul, and his relatives were far more than pleased and impressed to see the tall lanky foreigner embrace the culture even if he was slightly awkward when it came to bowing and pronouncing words.

   But it wasn’t just his family who was fond of this side of him.

 

Youngho went to high school at Korea once, at first year (which would also turn out to be his last in the country).

   It was a family compromise after both his parents had offers to work in Seoul. His father went ahead first, staying for six months before his mother was eventually called for at a broadcasting company that was a branch from where she was working at Chicago. Soon he found himself packing up his stuff and leaving his room blank (band posters excluded, he couldn’t tear John Lennon’s face down). Not that he complained of course. His parents couldn’t leave him alone to live with either himself or his relatives. The Seo family was close and tight-knit. Even Youngho couldn’t bear to not be out grocery shopping with his mom for a month… what more if he wouldn’t be seeing them for more than a year?

   The paperwork was arranged, along with his school transfer files and records. His father had enrolled him to a school in their district, a bus ride away from the house they rented. And within four months, Youngho is standing next to the homeroom teacher to introduce himself to a class of thirty-nine other kids, all curious on what the new guy from America has to offer.

   “Annyeonghaseyo,” He greets them with a bow and a shy smile, trying his best to sound as natural as possible. “I’m Seo Youngho, a transferee from Chicago. Please take care of me.”

 

Within his first week in school, Youngho got along well with his classmates and even managed to be class president much to his own surprise.

   The girls and boys of his class followed him obediently and he would often converse with them in between breaks and after classes, unconsciously hanging out with different groups of friends in different days. He didn’t just fit in one clique in class unlike back in Chicago. Here he was more open, friends with almost everyone.

   Well almost everyone.

   Because he couldn’t muster up enough courage to ask the boy with piercing eyes and Superman t-shirt to hang out with him.

 

 

+

 

 

The reply comes the next day, quicker than what Youngho had expected.

   As per usual, Youngho is at the library with his backpack slung over his shoulder, sneakers making squeaky sounds on the polished floor. It was a Friday, and for once he had no essays to write or articles to read, which means he had the day off for leisure. He could’ve spent the day back at his dorm with Jaehyun or called his friends to hangout, but his feet have lead him to the English section of the school library. He picks out the book from where he has left it yesterday, at the fourth shelf, flipping the pages with his thumb (an innate habit) when something slips out to the floor.

   A piece of ripped notebook paper.

 

Youngho scrambles to the floor on his knees to pick the note up, his backpack falling to the ground in the process, keychains jangling before crashing to the marble floor.

   It was no doubt the same nameless note-leaving person as before, with the small crooked Hangeul. He has to bring the note closer to his eyes for him to read the message. It said,

 

_Because somehow, I was reminded of someone and that someone reminded_

_me of something unpleasant, and therefore resulted to me being ‘dramatic’._

_I’m sorry if it bothers you._

 

Youngho leans against the shelf in astonishment, the words making his ears ring, his heart pound.

   No, what he’s feeling isn’t love or attraction… or love-at-first- _read_ at least. This was the feeling of stimulation by the fact that a stranger with a witty sense of wording, had just exchanged correspondence with him even if he wasn’t entirely sure that this Mystery Guy (or gal but anyway he leans more on this side of the line) would actually respond… or most fittingly, retort.

   He internally squeals, for a moment.

 

Without much hesitation, he takes out a pen from his hoodie’s pocket and ripped a blue sticky note from his bag.

   He ponders over for the right words to respond before biting his lip as he writes it down. The ends of his lips curl upward in satisfaction when he finally inserts it between the pages of “What the Dog Saw”. He goes over the pages for the last time, noticing that their first notes were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Mystery Guy has taken it with him. Maybe he’d take this one too. To be fair Youngho decides to keep Mystery Man’s reply stuffed in his pencil ace before he inserts his own note in.

 

_Okay then, enigmatic stranger who seems to love using repeating his words._

 

(He goes straight to his dorm after that, after Doyoung had kkt-ed him onto saving him from Jaehyun and Ten’s mess, adding that he was the only sane person in the room. Youngho cracks a smile at the TT emojis already imagining the scenario back at home, before he gets up from the floor returning the book back to its place to find his way back home. On the way, he figures that he hasn’t been spending much time with his friends anymore and that he should buy them something good to eat for later. Ordering chicken for as he was on the front door when he senses that it was abnormally quiet inside. Turns out he was set up by the three, after talking behind his back that he was close to marrying the library. Youngho waves them off with a chicken leg in his hand and says, “You guys are getting jealous over nothing.” To which his friends scoff at him. Jaehyun hits it up with, “Are you sure about that, hyung?” with matching hoots from the other two. He then looks at everybody straight at the eye with an effortless look, “I am entirely positive.”

And it was left to that, for the night.

But for the next few days, weeks, and months; the others were starting to grow a hunch that it was otherwise.)

 

The reply comes the next day and in a ripped piece of notebook paper, in thin crooked letters.

 

_How did you know I was a he?_

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Coldplay's song from their Ghost Stories album because technically me and Youngho are both trash for the said band and it seems fitting because well... idk the universe works like that.
> 
> Special thanks to the super Mods! For being very considerate and open to me. This is my first fest and it's been a wonderful.  
> To my prompter! I hope you won't get mad at me for not fishing this. But for all it's worth, I really truly did enjoyed writing under your prompt. I promise I'll finish it soon, and you'll be the first to know. ;)  
> To my friend D, for always putting up with me and my writing antics. I made it, HAH.  
> To my noot fren M, we've been through this fest through thick and thin, thank you for staying by my side.
> 
> And to the readers!!!  
> I hope you guys liked (if not love lmao jk) this! Comments are warmly welcomed, I'd like to here your words about this.  
> and as mentioned, this shall be finished... soon.


End file.
